


Into the Woods

by Llama1412



Series: Found Family Plottiness [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brokilon Forest, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magic, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Ciri recognizes the forest from her and Geralt's dream. They set off for Brokilon Forest to find Yennefer. Ciri doesn’t know who Yennefer is yet, but she knows Yennefer is important. And besides, Dara went back to Brokilon.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Found Family Plottiness [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676068
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up where [ Prophetic Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306368/chapters/55822318) left off.

Ciri stomped her foot in frustration, and considered bringing it down on Geralt’s foot next. The Witcher may have been tied to her by Destiny, but apparently that didn’t mean he had to _listen_ to her. “I recognized the trees, Geralt! I know it was Brokilon Forest!”

“Brokilon is entirely in the wrong direction from safety, Ciri! You’ve already said that Nilfgaard has agents and spies in the area around the Forest. We need to head north, away from their forces.” Geralt’s voice was growing sharper as their argument verged into the tenth minute.

Well, she wasn’t any happier! “We had another dream, Geralt! That has to mean it’s important for us to go there! And what about Yennefer?” Ciri still wasn’t sure who exactly Yennefer was, just that Geralt had looked oddly vulnerable when the name was said, and Uncle Jaskier’s face had gone sour. Her uncle had shoved himself away from them at the beginning of their argument, telling them to let him know when they were done being bullheaded. Ciri wasn’t sure exactly when Mousesack had slipped out – he was much better at subtlety than Uncle Jaskier, after all – but at some point, only she and Geralt had remained.

“We don’t know exactly what that dream was supposed to tell us.” Geralt bit out through gritted teeth. “It’s not as if Yennefer is part-tree.”

“But it’s Brokilon!” Ciri threw her hands up. “Queen Eithné told me there is a special magic to Brokilon. We don’t know what might be possible, but we have to find out! Aren’t you tired of running from Destiny!?” She demanded, “Am I really that bad?”

That stopped Geralt cold, just as she’d hoped. If he wasn’t going to listen, then she was absolutely going to play dirty. Ciri just _knew_ that they had to go back to Brokilon Forest.

Besides, Dara had gone back to Brokilon. Maybe...maybe they would have a chance to make up. She hoped so. All of Ciri’s friends in Cintra were dead now. She hoped she could get back the first friendship she’d received after the horrors of that night.

“That – that’s not,” Geralt stuttered. “It wasn’t because of you, Princess, my life isn’t suited for a child!”

Ciri narrowed her eyes. “So now that you have no choice, you give in to Destiny. And if Nilfgaard had never come, you would have left me forever, wouldn’t you?” 

Geralt’s mouth opened wordlessly a few times. “I...don’t know.” He finally said.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “We’re going to Brokilon Forest.” She used the same commanding tone that her grandmother had taught her, the same one the Lioness had used when leading troops to battle.

Geralt’s eyes widened a gratifying amount, and he sighed deeply. “As you wish, Princess.” He looked at her beseechingly. “But you have to let me protect you, Ciri. I know you’ve managed on your own until now, but I need you to listen to me and do as I say. Do you understand?” Geralt’s voice was unyielding.

“Fine.” Ciri shook his hand, feeling like the Queen finalizing a peace agreement. “Let’s go.”

They left the barn together to find that Uncle Jaskier and Mousesack were already saddling Geralt’s horse and the other one they’d borrowed from the merchant family to rescue Uncle Jaskier and Mousesack. Geralt drew up short. “What–?”

“Huh, that took less time than I thought.” Uncle Jaskier passed Mousesack a couple of coins. Had they bet on Ciri and Geralt’s argument? Why? “So, we ready to set off to Brokilon?” At Geralt’s raised eyebrow, Uncle Jaskier continued, “I honestly thought it would take her more time to persuade you. Either you’ve gotten softer or the Little Cub is getting fiercer.” Uncle Jaskier grinned at her and pulled her into his side.

Geralt grumbled. “Why are you saddling the gelding?”

“Ah,” Mousesack smiled. Ciri felt bad for the shiver that went down her spine. She knew it was really Mousesack, she _did._ But every instinct was shouting at her to run before he could capture her again. Uncle Jaskier squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. 

“Yurga insists that he received payment for the gelding. More than enough to cover the trouble of needing to buy a new workhorse.” Mousesack’s eyes had a teasing light to them that Ciri recognized, and it helped her shoulders relax. This was Mousesack, the man who had helped raise her, who had healed all her cuts and bruises from playing too rough, who had separated from her in Cintra in what they had both been sure were his last moments of life. Ciri breathed in and exhaled slowly. It was Mousesack. She would get her brain to remember that eventually.

“I’m naming him Daisy,” Uncle Jaskier declared. “To match me!” Ciri smiled, thinking back on the story he’d told her of her mother suggesting his stage name. Grandmother always insisted on calling him ‘Julian’, but everyone else called him Jaskier. It suited him.

She still couldn’t believe he had known her Destiny all this time.

Geralt rubbed his eyes, apparently too exhausted to argue with her uncle over something as trivial as a name. Ciri smirked. Grandfather had always said that the key to winning arguments was training people not to start them in the first place. Geralt might not know it, but he was definitely being trained.

“Ciri rides with me.” Geralt said, his tone nonnegotiable. Ciri hated to admit it, but she was relieved. She wasn’t ready to be that close to Mousesack yet. She knew it hurt him and she hated that she was causing that, but he kept reassuring her that it was good that she had learned to survive. 

She wasn’t sure if she believed him or not.

Uncle Jaskier and Mousesack mounted Daisy, and Ciri climbed up behind Geralt on Roach, and they headed carefully towards Sodden Hill.

“It’s the only pass North that’s on the way to Brokilon.” Geralt explained as they rode. “Now that Nilfgaard has partially withdrawn, we may have a chance to slip past their patrols. But we will have to be quick and _silent,”_ At that, Geralt cut a look to Uncle Jaskier who shrugged and mimed zipping his lips.

Internally, Ciri bet that would last for all of 5 minutes.

She wasn’t wrong. “So, once we cross the Yaruga, we can stop in town and get some supplies, right? Because Daisy won’t last long riding double like this.”

Geralt sighed. “Someone who can _be discreet_ can go into town. They’re looking for you too, remember?”

“Ah, right.” Ciri felt bad for the way Uncle Jaskier curled in on himself at that. She still shuddered at the memory of hearing his fingers break. She doubted she would ever forget it.

Ciri’s arms tightened around Geralt’s waist and he dropped a hand from the reigns to squeeze hers. If Geralt knew Uncle Jaskier as well as she did, then he had to know that the only hope of keeping Uncle Jaskier silent was to provide him with something else to focus on. “Want to hear the story of how I destroyed Uncle Jaskier at wrestling?” Ciri asked Geralt, just loud enough to be heard by the horse beside them. 

Geralt snorted. “Absolutely.”

“Oh come on!” Uncle Jaskier huffed.

Ciri giggled quietly and launched into the story. The tale lasted them until they could see a fort in the distance. They fell silent then, even Uncle Jaskier who was gnawing his lip raw to keep from speaking. 

They kept to the shadows as much as they could and Ciri had her hood pulled up high, but there was no doubt that the fort knew they were here. Geralt’s shoulders were tense in front of her and Ciri slipped an arm free to grip her own knife. She wasn’t actually sure if Geralt knew she had knives, but her Grandmother had taught her long ago to always arm herself when she was able. She did feel a bit bad for taking the second knife from Zola, though. The woman had been so kind, and even willing to take her in. If her Destiny had been different, Ciri might have considered it. But as it was, all she would bring was death and destruction. She couldn’t bring that on their family. And she needed to protect herself. So she did.

They were stopped in front of the gate by guards wearing the standard Ciri recognized as Temeria. “Halt! This bridge is under the guard of King Foltest of Temeria. We will not allow Nilfgaardian spies into the North.”

Geralt growled. “I’m no spy. I’m a Witcher – I hold no allegiance to any kingdom.” When the guard wasn’t swayed, Geralt grit out, “I seek an audience with your King. Tell him the Witcher who cured your Princess twenty years ago seeks passage across the Yaruga.”

The guard straightened at that and Ciri frowned. What was he talking about? There were lots of rumors concerning Princess Ada the White, King Foltest’s only heir, but Ciri had never heard of anything a Witcher would need to be called for.

As much as she longed to ask, Ciri bit her lip and kept her head down as they dismounted and were led through the rundown and damaged keep to a large war tent. Geralt carefully positioned himself in front of Ciri, and Uncle Jaskier and Mousesack closed in behind her. 

She hoped they were overreacting. But other Cintrans, people she had thought were her friends had tried to sell her to Nilfgaard. Ciri did not know what King Foltest might do, but Grandmother had always taught her that strategic information should be held until revealing it provided the maximum leverage. Right now, Geralt was all that stood between them and an army and Ciri did not want to find out what Foltest might do with _her_ as leverage against Nilfgaard.

The guard ducked inside to deliver Geralt’s message. A few moments later, the two soldiers stationed in front of the tent drew back the flaps to let them enter.

Ciri couldn’t see much around the her protective circle of adults, which was irritating. It’s not as if she was planning to revive Cintra – frankly, she just wanted to stay alive – but she’d still been raised with the expectation that she would lead a kingdom, and that required certain skill sets. Getting a look at another King’s war room? She couldn’t pass that up!

Except her protective parental figures were completely blocking the view. But at least she could listen as Geralt spoke with Foltest. 

“Geralt of Rivia,” King Foltest’s tone was flat.

“King Foltest,” Geralt bowed his head minutely. “I am heading north to the Witcher’s Keep for Winter with my companions. However, we have been barred from passing.”

“This is a battleground; You understand why we must be concerned for spies. My troops arrived in the aftermath of a slaughter.” The King’s deep sigh sounded surprisingly genuine to Ciri’s ears. “Nilfgaard infiltrated the keep before my forces arrived; turned some of their own against them. We’ve got thousands of casualties and an army still camped on our doorstep.”

Folest stopped speaking and Ciri could hear the sound of a liquid being poured. “You should know, Witcher, that my Sorceress is missing.”

Geralt inhaled sharply and Ciri was full of questions. Did she know who the King’s Mage in Temeria was? They had a flower name, Ciri thought. Magnolia, maybe?

“What happened?” Geralt rasped.

“Twenty-two mages came to defend Sodden Hill. They and a number of refugees were all that was here when Nilfgaard’s army arrived.” Foltest said. “They lost fourteen, Miss Merigold included. But they held the Keep and destroyed Nilfgaard’s forces. The North owes their freedom to the Mages, though the details are still coming together.

“What of Yennefer of Vengerberg?” Geralt asked.

Ciri heard paper fluttering as Foltest checked his records. “Not one of the fatalities. But she’s marked as missing.” Foltest’s voice was grim.

Ciri reached up and wrapped her fist in Geralt’s shirt at the small of his back, just to remind him that she was there, that they had reason to hope this Yennefer would be in Brokilon.

They just had to get there first. 

Geralt nodded his head to Foltest again. “I’m afraid I must be on my way north before the snows begin to block the mountain passes.”

“Wintering with a child? Are you planning to go domestic?” Foltest’s voice was mocking and Ciri clenched her fists.

“Child Surprise,” Geralt said simply with a shrug.

“Poor bastard,” someone in the corner whispered, not nearly as quiet as they obviously thought they were. Ciri’s hand slid inside her sleeve to grasp her knife.

“We’ll be going now,” Geralt’s voice was stony and he backed them out of the command tent without turning his back to the King. Ciri was somewhat impressed.

“I’m sure Yennefer’s fine, Geralt,” Uncle Jaskier murmured to him, “you had the dream, right? And she can take care of herself. We’ll find her when we get there.”

“Yeah,” Geralt murmured, and they mounted the horses again, pointing them towards Brokilon.

––

“Um,” it occurred to Ciri to say when the Forest finally loomed in the distance. “When I came here with Dara – well, I don’t actually remember how I got here then. But Dara said that I walked off like I was in a trance and...um, the dryads shot him for crossing their borders. He was okay!” Ciri hastened to add. “The Waters of the Forest healed him – it was amazing! But they also made him all – drunk kinda? Like, he just didn’t care about worrying about anything. But it wouldn’t work on me.” She frowned and remembered the Tree’s voice in her head, _what are you, child?_

“We could raise a flag of truce?” Uncle Jaskier offered. Zola, the woman who had taken Ciri in, had pressed provisions onto them before they left, and there was enough white-ish fabric to raise up. They slowed the horses to a casual pace and drew closer to the Forest.

They entered a huge swath of land that seemed completely barren. To her horror, Ciri saw Roach’s hoof come down next to an empty-eyed skull and she buried her face in Geralt’s cloak. 

It was okay not to look. Geralt was her Destiny – he promised he would protect her. She had to believe that. It was all Ciri had left.

When they drew within shouting distance of the forest, a warning arrow landed at their feet and spooked Daisy. Geralt made a strange gesture with his hand, and the horse suddenly fell calm under Uncle Jaskier’s grip.

“We come in peace,” Uncle Jaskier’s professor days had made him good at projecting. “We were brought here by a vision. One of our number stayed here previously.” Ciri realized that Uncle Jaskier was being careful not to mention her name. She felt her shoulders relax some. Even if she didn’t know Geralt very well yet, and she was still a little bit scared of Mousesack, she knew that Uncle Jaskier would always protect her. _Loyal as a dog,_ her grandmother used to joke, _and bites just as sharply as one._

“You may approach,” one of the warriors in the foliage shouted. 

The horses crept forward slowly, but the warriors parted to let them pass into under the cover of the canopy. 

“Ciri,” Sirssa, the warrior who had taught Ciri how to tie an arrowhead, approached her. “Shan-Kayan told us you would return. We are pleased to see you well – when your friend returned without you, we thought the worst.” She glared at Mousesack and her grip was firm on her spear. “The boy also said this one tried to kill you.”

“It was a doppler,” Mousesack said softly, drawing his head back sharply as another spear pointed at him. “I was imprisoned by Nilfgaard until Geralt and Cirilla came to rescue us. I can assure you, I have never been here before.”

The warriors looked to Ciri for confirmation, and it made something warm swell inside her. They would follow whatever signal she gave here. Even though these same warriors hadn’t liked her and had debated what to do with her, they would attack Mousesack if she signaled that she was in trouble. “He’s telling the truth,” Ciri spoke as loudly and clearly as she could. “He won’t hurt me.” She was proud that her voice didn’t waver as she said it. But it was true – even if the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that said everyone was out to get her turned out to be right, Geralt and Uncle Jaskier wouldn’t let him harm her.

The warriors stood down, and Ciri idly thought that that kind of power was strangely nice. Sirssa gestured for them to dismount and follow her, so they did, the horses carefully picking their steps through the roots and brush. Eventually, they approached the center of the Forest, and Sirssa stepped aside to bow to Queen Eithné. 

“Ciri,” The kind woman who had offered her sanctuary and guidance smiled down at her. “I am glad you are safe. And it would seem you have found your Destiny after all.” She looked over the three men accompanying Ciri with a slight look of distaste. “We do not typically permit men to stay in our Forest for long. But you are protecting Ciri. If you survive drinking the Waters, you will be welcome here.

Grandmother always liked to say that Uncle Jaskier had no clue how to keep his mouth shut. He proved that now when he spoke up meekly, “Ah, would those be the same waters that induce – what was it, Ciri? A drunken-like state?” 

“All newcomers to the Forest must drink the Waters. If they bear ill intent towards Brokilon, they die. If they are pure in heart, they survive.” Unlike when Queen Eithné had explained to Ciri, she did not offer for them to stay here and continue to drink from the waters, to eventually forget their pasts. Well, Ciri had already declined anyway.

“Before that,” Geralt spoke up, grabbing Uncle Jaskier’s wrist, which had automatically reached out to take the gourd Queen Eithné offered. “We are looking for someone. We had a – vision,” Geralt failed to hide his disdain for the idea, “that Yennefer of Vengerberg was in Brokilon Forest.”

Queen Eithné bowed her head in confirmation. “Yes, the Sorceress Yennefer is here. She is partaking in the healing Shan-Kayan offers. Her Teacher hovers by her side.” She offered the gourd again. “Drink, and if you mean no harm, I will bring you to the Sorceress.”

Geralt grabbed the gourd out of Uncle Jaskier’s grasp, glaring at him. Ciri frowned at Geralt as he quickly swallowed the Waters. He was testing it for poison, she realized. Geralt didn’t trust that they were safe and wouldn’t let any of them accept anything from the dryads until he was confident in it. It reminded her of the way Grandfather hovered protectively around her grandmother at times.

Ciri hid her bittersweet smile behind the gourd once it had passed Geralt’s inspection, then passed it over to her uncle. Once they had all drunk and remained unharmed, Eithné waved warriors forward to take the horses from them. “Follow me,” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer and Geralt (and co.) talk

When the warriors guarding Yennefer snapped to attention, she was half-way through a physical therapy session, with Tissaia bracing her arms. She was therefore, wholly unprepared for Brokilon’s Queen to stride into the clearing, followed by two people she had half hoped she might never see again. Geralt and Jaskier were followed by a child and an older man, but it was difficult to take in much else when her breath felt like it had frozen in her lungs. 

She hadn’t had time to sort out what she felt about Geralt now that the djinn’s magic was undone. And even though Geralt had broken her heart once already, Yennefer felt a flash of apprehension as his eyes settled on her. _Even if you were beautiful, still nobody will love you,_ the memory of Tissaia giving voice to her deepest fear conquered her usual confidence and Yennefer ducked her head, still hanging onto Tissaia’s arms. Geralt had never seen her like this. He knew, logically, that she had been different before the transformation. What had he said, _what was your ailment before? Clubbed foot? Split ends? But Aretuza fixed you up good_. She wasn’t fixed up anymore and damn it all, Yennefer had fought hard to believe in herself when the rest of the world kicked her down. Who was this damned Witcher to burst into her heart and ruin all of that? Why was the possibility of his scorn so heart wrenching?

She could feel people’s gaze on her like ants crawling over her skin, and it nearly made her snarl. If they thought she was any less powerful because this was her body now, she would _show_ them how wrong they were.

Only, Geralt had stopped staring and stepped forward, concern on his face. He stopped short of actually touching her, uncertain of his welcome, but he asked, “are you injured? What happened?” His arm was raised at her waist height, she noticed, braced to take her weight if she should need it.

Why did that make something warm curl in her chest?

Yennefer grit her teeth and tossed her hair back. “Geralt. Jaskier.” She nodded snidely at them, and glanced over their companions: a young girl, perhaps Yennefer’s age when Tissaia had taken her, with white blond hair and a cloak made of fine material, and an older man in very nice, if also very dirty clothes. Since when did Geralt hang around with nobles?

Other than Jaskier, of course. But Jaskier was a special kind of annoyance and didn’t count. He did look a bit worse for wear, though. Yennefer frowned. She preferred when she was the only one kicking the bard around.

“Yennefer.” Jaskier actually gave her a half smile and wave, so she glared at him, because he probably deserved it and she liked to keep him just a bit scared of her. His smile simply grew.

“Are you planning to introduce your companions?” Yennefer snapped. Beside her, Tissaia coughed pointedly, but she ignored it.

“You’re Yennefer?” The girl asked. “I – well, Geralt and I had a dream of you here. So we came. Oh, I’m Ciri, and that’s Mousesack.” She gestured to the greying man.

Yennefer raised her eyebrows. “Hello, Ciri. Apparently the magic trees here think our destinies are linked.” She decided it was best just to ignore Geralt for now. He hadn’t earned her attention.

Tissaia interrupted her. “Forgive my student’s rudeness,” she looked pointedly at Yennefer with disapproval, “I am Tissaia de Vries, Rectoress of Aretuza.”

“Hi!” Ciri smiled and waved, then said to Yennefer, “did you meet _the_ magic tree? It was strange, wasn’t it?” The bard snorted and Geralt shook his head, but there was a soft expression on his face as he looked at the child.

Yennefer smiled at Ciri. “It was certainly something.” She glanced at Geralt and asked despite herself, “are you the Child Surprise?”

Instead of answering, Ciri rounded on Jaskier and Mousesack. “Did everybody know about this Destiny shit except for me? What the fuck, Uncle Jaskier? Mousesack, you wouldn’t tell me, but apparently everyone else knows!?”

The child’s voice was surprisingly loud, and Yennefer could sense a slight undercurrent of power. That plus her language endeared her to Yennefer. But also, “Uncle Jaskier!?” She asked in disbelief.

The bard shrugged at her. “I’m besties with her Grandmother,” his smile almost slipped. 

“She’s gone,” Ciri murmured and looked at her hands, her anger suddenly gone.

Well shit, Yennefer had made the child cry. She finally released her stabilizing grip on Tissaia’s arms and wobbled carefully to her seat (which was really a particularly convenient root. Did they not have furniture here?). 

Geralt’s offered arm dropped back to his side. He cleared his throat and said, “Ciri has some sort of power. Would you be able to work with her to find out what?”

“Oh! Yes, if you could that would be wonderful,” Ciri said softly. “I don’t know what it is, but they are hunting me because of it.”

“They?”

“Nilfgaard,” Jaskier said. “Maybe we should all sit down. From what we heard when we crossed at Sodden Hill, I think we all have stories to tell.”

Suddenly, all of Yennefer’s attention was focused on Jaskier, and she knew Tissaia’s was too. “You’ve been there? How are they? Who –” _is still alive_ , she couldn’t say. If Yennefer reached for Chaos, she might be able to see – or at least call for them. But she’s seen so many of her friends, her sisters cut down. She couldn’t –

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier murmured. “King Foltest told us that you lost 14 of your companions.”

Tissaia made a wounded noise behind her that Yennefer had never heard before and sat down abruptly. Yennefer wasn’t sure what she was feeling herself. Fourteen. They had only numbered less than twice that, even before her sisters had been slaughtered in front of her mind’s eye.

“We won?” Yennefer managed to ask.

“Yes,” Geralt answered. “Temeria’s forces hold the line now.”

Yennefer nodded, numb. “We won.” She reached for Tissaia without thinking and suddenly, the stern unforgiving woman who had raised her was falling apart in her arms. Yennefer startled, but she wrapped her arms around Tissaia and glared at the others until they gave her some privacy. Just in case, Yennefer threw up a sound-dampening spell. Tissaia would hate it if word got out about her breaking down. 

“My students,” Tissaia whispered. “If I hadn’t fallen for Fringilla’s trap – how could she!?” Her voice broke off into a sob, and Yennefer hugged her closer.

They had never done this. Oh, they touched each other, of course they did – but not for comfort. Tissaia offered her guidance with a hand moving her arm into place or acted as spotter during Yennefer’s physical therapy, years ago and now. But they had never hugged before, and Yennefer had never seen Tissaia this open, this broken.

It scared her. It reminded her of Tissaia saying that Yennefer was like her, that they both had to control their emotions because they _used_ them.

Yennefer wished she knew what to do with this feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they know Yennefer is all right, Ciri wants to find Dara. She wants to try to put her family back together.

As soon as they’d left the clearing behind, Ciri turned to Queen Eithné. “Is Dara here? Can I see him?”

Eithné smiled down at her. “If he will talk to you, you may. Dara returned to Brokilon after you left. He has again been offered the option to stay and drink the waters to forget.”

Ciri bit her lip. “I – I would like to try, if he’ll see me.” She turned to her guardians. “Alone.”

“Ciri–” Geralt objected.

“No,” Ciri cut him off. “I need to talk to him alone. I have to.”

Eithné put a hand on her shoulder. “I will guide her to him and remain with her. Will that reassure you of her safety, Geralt of Rivia?”

The set of Geralt’s face very much said _no,_ but he grit his teeth and nodded. “Of course, Queen Eithné.”

“Excellent.” Eithné’s smile reminded Ciri of her grandmother, which hurt like a dagger to the heart, but she pushed it down.

Eithné led Ciri further into the forest, and then had her pause to wait outside a small clearing, where she could see Dara’s back facing her. Eithné continued into the clearing to talk to Dara, to ask him if he would see her.

What if Dara said no? He had been angry with her last they’d spoken, leaving her like that. What if he rejected her offer of family again? Could she take that? 

He was her family, even if he didn’t believe it. Surely he wouldn’t reject her – their fight before had been because of the horrible circumstances. It would be okay now – they had Geralt and Jaskier and– and even Mousesack to keep them safe! 

Dara had been the first kind thing in her life after the nightmare. She couldn’t lose him. Didn’t he feel the same?

Dara’s head turned towards Eithné, and she could see the side of his face as he said, loud enough for her to hear, “I don’t want to see her.” 

_No._

Ciri took a single step forward and spoke. “Dara.” She saw his shoulders tense and he did not turn to look at her. “If you meant what you said before, that– that you were done being my family, then I’ll leave and never bother you again.” Ciri could feel her voice choking up and she blinked rapidly so that she wouldn’t cry. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep us safe. I’m sorry I got tricked and put you in danger. But if you’re at all willing, I still consider you my family. And I want you to come with us – Geralt found me, and he can protect us! He can teach us to protect ourselves!” 

“I said, I don’t want to see you.” Dara snapped and stomped out of the clearing without ever looking at her.

Ciri felt like her heart had stopped, her breath frozen in her chest. 

“I am sorry, child.” Eithné said. She squeezed Ciri’s shoulders, bringing her back to herself. 

Ciri drew in a quick breath. “He hates me,” she whispered. 

Eithné knelt in front of her. “I think rather, he does not trust you at the moment.”

Suddenly recalling the cause of their fractured relationship, Ciri gasped. “Oh! You must tell him – Mousesack is here! But it’s really him, it’s not the Doppler! I tested him with silver!” Ciri reached out and clutched Queen Eithné’s wrists. “Please, you must tell Dara. If he sees Mousesack without knowing–”

Eithné clasped her wrists in return – like a warriors handshake, Ciri thought absently. Only the war here was recovering her family. “I will tell him, Ciri. And I will keep him away from the druid. Now,” She rose and put a hand on Ciri’s back to guide her through the trees, “we should be getting back to your Witcher, shouldn’t we?”

Ciri felt numb, like the world had ceased to matter. She let Eithné guide her back to camp and was vaguely aware of yelling around her while Uncle Jaskier bundled her up and hummed softly to her.

––

Geralt was fretting. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he was worried. Ciri obviously cared about this boy a great deal, and he found himself caring deeply about Ciri already. Geralt wanted her to be happy. If that meant convincing this boy to join them – well, perhaps it would be for the best. Something wasn’t right about all of this.

Witchers and dryads didn’t have much contact with each other, but Geralt had studied them. Only women could be dryads. The only use they had for men was to create more dryads with.

So why had they taken in the boy when he had returned without Ciri? 

“Geralt,” Jaskier was suddenly in front of him, halting Geralt’s pacing in its tracks. “Whatever is causing you to pace a groove into the forest, just spit it out, will you?”

Geralt heard a rough laugh and turned to frown at Mousesack. Their little group had apparently been assigned to this specific grove. Ciri had curled up under one tree, exhausted after the day’s travel and the rejection she’d experienced. Geralt had been keeping her in his line of sight while he paced the perimeter around her. Mousesack had settled himself near enough to keep watch over Ciri, but far enough to respect her current fear of him at her back. Geralt had thought Jaskier was sitting with Ciri, but apparently not.

“It’s nothing,” Geralt ground out, and turned on his heel to keep pacing away from Jaskier. 

“Horse shit.” Jaskier followed after him and then decided to stop him by hooking his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and dropping all of his weight onto Geralt. Unfortunately for Jaskier, Geralt could easily tow Jaskier’s weight, and he dragged him along behind him. Mousesack laughed out loud and apparently startled Ciri to awareness. She took one look at them and burst into delightful high-pitched giggles.

Geralt knew he wasn’t the only one gazing fondly at Ciri, but he rather felt the other two were more entitled to it. After all, Mousesack had stayed in Cintra to mentor the girl, and Jaskier had apparently become her uncle. What was Geralt? Whatever magic Destiny wielded, it couldn’t miraculously turn him into her father.

Did he want it to? He had avoided her all her life for a reason. His life wasn’t suited for a child. What kind of life could he offer her?

A Witcher’s life wasn’t suited for a bard, either, but that had never stopped Jaskier from latching onto him. Now that they’d met, Geralt wasn’t sure if he wanted Ciri to do the same or not.

What was he supposed to do with a child? They needed things, didn’t they? Education and toys and clothing and… he was sure there were other things they needed. Geralt didn’t have any of that!

Well, he had clothing, but not the other two. His own childhood hadn’t had many toys after– well, after. And education? He knew a great deal about monsters and fighting and surviving in the world, but Ciri was a princess. She needed more than that.

Geralt didn’t notice that he was twisting his fingers until Jaskier clasped them between his own hands. “Seriously, Geralt, just tell us what’s bothering you.”

Geralt glanced at Ciri, who was staring at him, clearly curious. She didn’t need to know that these people who took her in might have ill intentions towards her friend. It would only worry her needlessly.

He sighed and squeezed Jaskier’s hand back. “I just need to move. I’m going to take a walk.” Geralt didn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand as he ventured into the trees. He knew there were a few dryads tailing him, but until they made a move, there was nothing he could do.

“Okay, what’s got you so worked up that you don’t want Ciri to know about it? Or is it Mousesack you’re hiding from?” Jaskier joked, but his eyes were worried.

Geralt huffed out a breath. “That’s not it.”

He kept walking until his ears told him that a small figure was sitting curled into the trunk of a tree several paces to his left. Geralt stopped and debated if he actually wanted to do this.

If he approached the child directly, he wasn’t likely to be believed. And given Ciri’s tenuous position with the kid, it might even be seen as an attempt to coerce him into coming.

That wasn’t Geralt’s intent. It was just – if the dryads wanted to use the child, he should at least know about it. Geralt’s instincts were screaming at him that there was something wrong here, that there was no reason the dryads should accept this _boy_ amongst them.

Jaskier tugged on his hand. “Geralt, you’re starting to scare me. What’s going on?”

Geralt took a breath and said, “you need to be careful in this forest, Jaskier. Dryads are notorious for their negative attitude towards men.”

Jaskier laughed, not taking this seriously at all. “Okay, sure, I haven’t seen any guys around, but really Geralt, baby dryads have to come from somewhere.”

“They do,” Geralt said sharply. “Sometimes the men are willing. Sometimes they’re kidnapped. But their only use is for procreation. Only women can become dryads.”

“What do you mean, become?” Jaskier asked. “How can you become a race?”

“Through the waters,” Geralt could hear Dara’s breathing quicken in the distance. “It’s said the waters can cause you to forget your past. In doing so, it turns you into a dryad, into part of the forest. Well, not you–” Geralt indicated Jaskier. “Dryads are exclusively women, Jaskier. If they aren’t turned, they’re born – and their fathers are never seen again.”

Jaskier pulled back from him. “Wait, they _kill_ their men after they– what, just wait long enough for them to come and then off them? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Geralt glared at the bard. He didn’t know much about children, but he was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to talk about orgasming around them. Though this was Jaskier – there was only so long he could go _without_ speaking of orgasms. And in fairness, _he_ didn’t know there was a child nearby.

“I’m not. Which is why you _cannot_ flirt with them, Jaskier. If they take you up on it, they’ll probably kill you.” Geralt was actually a bit worried about that. He hadn’t been kidding about how often Jaskier spoke of orgasms. And sought them out. 

He gripped Jaskier’s doublet and started back towards the sounds of Mousesack and Ciri. He’d told the boy what he needed to know. What he did with that information was up to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara runs into Yennefer and together, they experience a strange vision given to them by the Waters of Brokilon. AKA Yennefer has an existential crisis and accidentally adopts Dara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to notebooksandlaptops on the Yennskier discord for helping me figure a few things out with the visions.

The last thing Yennefer expected at the end of this exhausting day was for a young boy to almost knock her over. She had settled Tissaia down for the night and found that she desperately needed to get _away._ Yennefer wasn’t sure how she’d found herself in front of the big magic tree – she had simply walked in the direction that hurt the least. She had only just realized where she was – aka magic tree grove – when the child had bowled her over.

Falling to the ground really hurt when the arm you tried to brace yourself with didn’t work the way you expected it to anymore. A soft groan escaped her and the body above her gasped. “Oh, ’m sorry, I didn’t–”

Propping herself up with her good arm (well, better. Neither of her shoulders worked quite right, but her hunchback side was definitely worse), Yennefer looked up at the boy. He was elven, she realized, and probably about the same age as Geralt’s child surprise. He also scrubbed at his eyes like he’d been crying, and he looked more than a bit worse for wear. What was it about today and crying children? Was Destiny taunting her with what she couldn’t have?

“Are you okay?” She asked. Her voice came out gentle in a way that surprised her.

He stepped back away from her and looked assessingly at her before offering her help getting up. She wished she could refuse on principle, but she genuinely did need the help, which frustrated her beyond belief. She grit her teeth and swallowed all her emotions down. She wouldn’t take out her pain and irritation on a kid. 

The kid didn’t speak, even after they stood facing each other in front of the giant magic tree. Yennefer remembered being cautious about who she revealed her name to, who she could trust with any part of herself. “My name is Yennefer,” she offered.

“Dara,” he responded.

“Are you okay, Dara?” It was obvious he wasn’t, of course, but she had to give him the chance to reject her help. She had to give him the choice.

“No,” he whispered softly. “I don’t know what to do or what’s going to happen to me.”

Yennefer was more than familiar with that feeling. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found a fix for it either beyond _get powerful so you can dictate what happens to you._ She had a feeling that wouldn’t be helpful right now. “How did you end up here? You’re not a dryad. Are you here with Geralt?” He hadn’t been with them when they’d introduced themselves, but she wasn’t sure how else he could have come to be here. Then again, she still wasn’t certain how _she_ had ended up here.

“Geralt...of Rivia?” Dara asked. “Oh, Ciri said he’d found her. That must have been him who–” His voice caught in his throat and she hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. “I thought I could be safe here. I thought maybe I could finally forget. That’s what they promised – that the waters would make us forget.” He shook his head. “Only they didn’t promise _me,_ they told Ciri. And that guy said that dryads only allow men amongst them to– uh,”

“Make baby dryads, yes.” Yennefer was glad the flash of amusement she felt couldn’t be betrayed by the curl of her lips. Few people could tell when she smiled on the twisted side of her face. 

“But they kill the men after.” Dara shivered. “They took me back after Ciri – when I came back without her. But they were only ever interested in her, weren’t they? Did they – did they let me stay just to be bait for her? She doesn’t even – they don’t – aaaaahh,” he threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I didn’t want to see her again! Her and her murdering family – I want nothing to do with them!”

Yennefer blinked. “Her family? Who is she?” She had never actually said in her introduction. Not that Yennefer would have been able to pay much attention to it at the time. Seeing Geralt again had demanded much of her focus.

“She’s _Princess_ Cirilla of _Cintra,”_ he snarled. “Her grandmother slaughtered my family, everyone I knew! I thought she might be different, but she’s not! All they know how to do is spread death and destruction.” While Dara’s voice was angry, his face looked more disappointed than anything else, tears gathering in his eyes. 

Yennefer wanted to comfort him, but her mind got stuck on _Cintra._ Cintra, the kingdom that despised elves so much that her quarter-elven blood had disqualified her from getting assigned to Cintra’s biggest trade partner at first. The kingdom that hunted elves so voraciously that even she had been hesitant to ever go there, lest an untimely rumor ruin everything for her.

“Geralt’s child surprise is _Cintra’s Princess!?”_ She sputtered. How the fuck had that idiot Witcher gotten himself into that?

“Apparently.” Dara huffed and rubbed his eyes, looking suddenly exhausted. She could relate – this day had been nothing but emotional whirlwinds ever which way.

“Fuc– uh,” she cleared her throat, looking at the child in front of her. “Wow.” Yennefer leaned against the giant magic tree – what did they call it, Shan-Kayan? – and had a sudden idea. “Instead of dealing with any of this, do you want to drink the Waters again? Because I really, really do.”

“Yes,” Dara breathed out a sigh of relief. There were full gourds around the base of the tree, and Yennefer grabbed one, passing it to the child first. Should she be giving a child a hallucinogen? He’d drunk the waters before, he said. If the dryads didn’t mind, why should she?

They both drank deeply and leaned against the tree, suddenly tired.

––

_Yennefer opened her eyes to the sand dunes from her last hallucination. Except, this time, Dara stood beside her, an overwhelmed look on his face. Could you have a shared hallucination? Was that a thing?_

_“Dara?”_

_“What’s happening?” Dara spun around wildly. Aside from the sand dunes, the only thing around here was the Tree Yennefer could tell was behind her from the shadows cast by those strange tendrils of power radiating out._

_Before Yennefer could respond, a sound like a thousand whispers speaking with one voice said, “You drank from our Waters, Child.”_

_Dara’s eyes went wide and she could read the terror in his stance. Yennefer put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I had this vision the last time they gave me the Waters. I thought you said you’d drunk from them before?”_

_“I did!” Dara insisted. “Nothing like this happened!”_

_“We are Shan-Kayan and we brought you here, child. You stand at a crossroads of Destiny. We offer you a look at what could be, if you work together.” The whispers felt like they were curling around Yennefer and she could see Dara shiver as if he was feeling the same._

_“Together – the two of us?” Yennefer gestured between herself and Dara. “We literally just met.”_

_“What do you mean ‘a look at what could be’?” Dara frowned up at the Tree._

_Two tendrils of light, one pink and one purple, collided with the ground in front of them and formed two puddles. The light turned the sand shimmery, and before Yennefer’s eyes, the sand_ changed. _From the corner of her eye, she saw that Dara’s puddle seemed to show something different, but most of her focus was absorbed in the scene before here._

_First, she saw Aretuza, where a group of mages held wide bowls under a waterfall, collecting water and then passing the bowl to the next mage in line. Then the scene changed and she could see a figure kneeling next to a stream in a meadow. As the view came into focus, Yennefer recognized the figure as Mousesack, the man who had come to the forest with Geralt and Jaskier. He reached into the stream and filled a waterskin, then stood and turned, and then it was Geralt standing there and the stream was now a small pond. Geralt knelt down and cupped his hands in the water, raising it to his lips. Then everything shifted again, and the first thing to become clear was a well, with an odd carving of a lion inlaid in the stones. She saw Dara – not the boy beside her, but one in the puddle of light – approach the well and drop the bucket in with a distant splash. He struggled to pull the rope back up, and yet slowly but surely, the bucket emerged, filled to the brim._

_Then the Dara beside her gasped, and the pink and purple puddles began to merge together. Now, the swirling light formed one large circle in front of both of them. The light shimmered like water and then stilled in the center to show four figures – two short and two tall – fighting off an unseen enemy, hidden in mist. Two of the figures came into focus first, and Yennefer could see an image of herself shaping her hands to form a wave of water in the air. Next to her miniature, one of the smaller figures solidified into Dara. He shouted something with no voice and formed ice shards in his hand, which he threw into the mist that refused to reveal their enemies. When the last two figures came into focus, Yennefer’s scoff was echoed by the real Dara next to her. Closest to their mirror images, the other small figure was clearly Ciri, and she fought with a pair of twin knives, moving as quickly as wind, but always staying close to them. The fourth figure would have been easy to miss if it had been anyone else. But Yennefer’s eyes were immediately drawn to the long white hair of the Witcher as he fought along the perimeter of the clearing, fighting unseen opponents in the mist._

_The voice of whispers spoke again. “You think of Destiny as written in stone, but we are a Tree. We are living, affected by this world. So too is Destiny. It is a matter of choice. Some things will always be true, but many, many more things change because of your actions.” A small line of Shan-Kayan’s power broke off from the sand and circled around her ankle. “Because of your_ choices. _This is one possible future, your_ best _possible future, and it is one only attainable with the assistance of your companions. It is up to you to decide what to do with this knowledge.”_

_Before Yennefer could react, she felt herself waking up. Annoyed, she thought to herself that Shan-Kayan seemed to like getting the last word._

––

Yennefer awoke, propped up against the Tree, with Dara next to her.

“Did that really happen?” Dara whispered.

“Yeah,” Yennefer rubbed a hand over her face. “I think it did.” She glanced at the boy beside her, who was apparently tied to her best possible future and who she knew very little about. “When Shan-Kayan showed us those visions, before they merged, what did you see?” she asked.

“It was an Elven city,” Dara said softly. “But not an ancient ruin or a refugee camp. It was an actual city, a thriving city, and it was beautiful.” He turned to look at her with wide eyes. “Do you think it’s really possible? If we work together, it could lead to a future where elves aren’t hated and hunted? Where we don’t have to hide or run, but can laugh and dance in the streets?”

Yennefer wasn’t expecting the way that hit her. A world where elves were free? Here in this world, where the Great Cleansing had murdered her father and thousands and thousands of other elves and half-elves? In this world where her elven blood meant she was worth four marks – less even than the pigs she was forced to sleep next to? Was that possible?

Yennefer had never realized that she wanted that. She had always looked at her mixed heritage as a curse – the reason so many obstacles had been placed in her path to power. So why did she suddenly want nothing more than to interrogate Dara about what an Elven city could look like in the future?

“Yennefer?” She was jarred out of her thoughts by Dara touching her arm with the lightest pressure.

“Oh,” she cleared her throat. “I didn’t know I wanted that. But I really, really hope it’s possible, Dara.” She looked down at him, this young elven child who had never known a time when elves were free. Not that she had either, but her father had, Yennefer liked to think. “Not many people know,” she said lowly, “but I’m quarter-elf. It’s why my spine is twisted like this.”

Dara’s forehead wrinkled. “Why would Elven blood do that? I don’t know if I’ve met a quarter elf before, but I knew a few half elves before–” He cut himself off, biting his lip. “The dryads told me the Waters could make me forget. And I want to forget that. But I want the future that I saw even more.”

Yennefer frowned at him. “But some of the half elves must have had twisted spines or other issues? Everyone knows that’s what elven blood can do.”

He tiled his head. “Who is everyone? I’ve never heard that, and I’m an elf!” He actually seemed indignant, hands on his hips, but Yennefer could pay little attention to that. She had _always_ been told that her blood was to blame for her pain. That humans and elves just don’t mix, and that’s why places like Cintra got away with murdering elves by the score. _Everyone_ knew that.

“Oh,” Yennefer breathed. “Every _human_ knows that. Fuck, it’s fucking propaganda.”

“What’s propaganda?” Dara asked, and Yennefer remembered that there was a child sitting next to her. Oops.

“Propaganda is a lie people tell to excuse what they’re doing. Humans hate elves. So if they can say that elven blood makes people like me, then they can excuse a lot. To some people, just being like this makes people worthless,” She spat. “But there are people with twisted spines that don’t have elven blood. And maybe there are full-blooded elves with twisted spines too. Maybe,” Yennefer swallowed. It was hard, realizing something she had thought all her life could be wrong. “Maybe my blood has nothing to do with my spine. My blood doesn’t cause my pain.” As she spoke, her words became more firm. Yes, she decided. Her elven heritage was not what caused her pain. Whatever gave her a twisted spine was a bitch, but it was humans who had made everything worse. Why shouldn’t she claim her elven blood as openly as she claimed her human blood?

“I don’t understand how blood could cause pain,” Dara said, “but I’m glad you also want that future. Maybe we _can_ work together.” His lips twisted and she noticed that he deliberately didn’t mention the other two they apparently needed to work with. Yennefer didn’t want to talk about Geralt either. “What was your vision, then?” Dara asked. “Maybe I can help you with it too!”

“I don’t understand mine.” She slumped back against the Tree that had given them a glimpse of Destiny. Could she truly believe everything Shan-Kayan said? Could her choice really guide her Destiny? “It was just a lot of different people gathering water from different sources. Actually, you were in it.” She described her vision for him, focusing on the well he’d drawn water from. 

“A carved lion?” Dara gave a gusty sigh. “That’s gotta be Ciri, granddaughter of the Lioness. But what’s the water?”

Yennefer shook her head. “Well, mages and Geralt could be magic. Witchers were created by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, and both can use magic. Though to call it _magic_ is a bit of an overstatement.” She muttered to herself. “Are you magic?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’d definitely know, wouldn’t I? And if water is magic, why would it come from Ciri?” He paused and frowned in thought. “Ciri said they were after her because there was something inside her, something the ‘man with the winged helmet’ wanted. But if she has magic, why would she be the well, instead of the one drawing water like the others?”

“No idea. I can’t think why I would have seen that other man, either, the one that came with Geralt.” She sighed and started struggling to her feet. “But I suppose I may as well talk to him tomorrow.” She held out her hand to help Dara to his feet, stabilizing herself with her other hand on the Tree. “Where have you been staying while you’re here? You should probably get some sleep.”

Dara hugged his arms against each other. “I don’t think I can. I – the vision was amazing, but I still don’t know what to do. What the dryads might do to me.”

“Come with me, then,” Yennefer offered. “At least for now. We’re going to work together, right? You can stay with Tissaia and I. She’s – well, I guess she’s my teacher.” _And my nemesis and the only mother I ever had,_ Yennefer did not say.

“Could I?” Dara smiled tentatively at her. “I’ve never met mages before.”

“Well, I have no doubt Tissaia can answer any questions you have. Be careful, though,” Yennefer returned his smile, “her answers can easily turn into hours long lectures on magical theory.” That drew the first laugh she’d heard from the boy and Yennefer found herself thinking that this was not at all the way she hoped to have a child, but she rather liked it.


End file.
